I wrote this during that art period, in the compy lab

Why does time keep passing when a heart gets broken? It feels as though it should shatter, twinkling shards should fly away and time should just, stop. Or maybe the paint should peel from all the walls and the pages should rip themselves out of books as a sign of protest. Or the face of the one who broke it should chisel itself into a sinister grin, an immovable palate nothing resembling its old self.
But the thing is, when a heart gets broken, nothing differs around the heart. Time keeps passing, the heart keeps beating, somehow. The walls and the pages stay the same, and that beautiful face does too. And all that heart can do is try to mend itself; swell up in pain and gasp for life-breath, tremble in horror, its true. But somehow, it beats on.
And its almost more painful, for that heart, that nothing does change. For everyone and everything else it is nothing more than a passing phase for their friend, if they even realize it has happened. One less smiling face, maybe. But for that one heart it is like nothing will ever, ever be the same.

(P.S. if you like my writing, go to fictionpress.com and search the screen name cryingred.)